Angel's Fall
by focsfyr
Summary: Chichiri kills a demon who has been terrorising the bandit stronghold, but immortal souls rarely stay dead. It has a grudge against the wandering pair...and once it finds their reincarnations, there'll be trouble.
1. prologue

Title: Angel's Fall  
Part: pro/? (Yes, it's long for a prologue, but that's basically what it is)  
Author: focsfyr  
Pairing: TasukiChichiri  
Warnings: yaoi, angst, bit of language   
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Fushigi Yuugi and have no money. The idea for this story arose when I watched the movie 'Fallen.' I don't own that either and certainly don't claim to. No copyright infringements are intended.  
Archive: my site and fanfiction.net, but if you want it, all you have to do is ask   
C&C: please!

Thanks to Scheherazade, missa, Amida and Asidian for beta-ing

::thoughts::  
_emphasis and sound effects_

"Though my soul may set in darkness  
it will rise in perfect light.  
I have loved the stars too fondly  
to be fearful of the night..."  
--Sarah Williams "The Old Astronomer to his Pupil"

ANGEL'S FALL

Faint footprints wound their way up the rocky slope, each one brown and barren, stamped through the thin layer of pristine snow.

The light dusting of snow that had fallen since dawn had left the landscape sugar-coated. But like so many things, the beauty was only skin deep. The spring warmth that coaxed animals out of hibernation and flowers to bloom had ended abruptly with an unexpected frost that struck early that morning and left each tender shoot brown and brittle beneath a thin layer of ice. A biting chill drove the animals down from their mountain homes to the lower slopes of Mt. Leikaku to wait out the sudden freeze.

But if the earth was left lifeless, the heavens were alive with light. Each star gleamed with unusual intensity, the full moon painting the landscape in shades of black and silver.

Chichiri shivered and pulled his kesa tight around him in a vain attempt to ward off the chill, but the icy breeze cut through his clothes like they weren't even there.

It was a lovely night, with the sky so clear it seemed he could just reach out and hold the moon within his grasp and a silence so thick even the slightest sound would shatter it.

::Eerie.:: But nothing did. Instead, nature seemed to be holding its breath. ::Even the animals know something's wrong. There isn't a living creature within five miles of the peak. Except for me.:: And of course, the two bandits hurriedly following his footprints, one consumed with worry, the other with anticipation.

The high winds of the day had scoured the peak down to bare stone and thinly veiled patches of slippery black ice. The clatter of the metal rings sounded unnaturally loud in the night air as he planted the base of his shakujou on the ground in front of him.

Ignoring the rasp of dry air in his throat, he drew his consciousness inward, seeking the source of his power. Little by little he drew strength from his soul and twined it together with his inborn magic. But he was careful not to draw upon his Seishi power. No matter how carefully used, how delicately touched, Suzaku's power burned with a strength that couldn't be concealed. Blatant as a beacon on a mountaintop, it would draw unwanted attention to his every move.

The magic of nature had the same effect, though it was infinitely more subtle. A spark of magic was given off every second by all living things, each tiny drop running into streams of power that fed into each other. Together, they created an invisible net of natural magic that covered the earth like a nourishing blanket, keeping plants and animals alive and healthy.

The problem was that these tiny streams were all interconnected. If drawn on by a mage, it sent ripples through the world that even a novice could feel.

But the power of one's own soul was something that only the user could sense, and then only because it was directly tied into his being. To everyone else, it might as well not be there.

This was the magic he used now. He spun it out into strands fine as spider webs and strong as iron and wove a fragile net, feeling it settle soundlessly and securely into place.

A grim smile touched his lips as he inspected his work. When triggered, it would bind the target in a tangle so complex and so strong that it would be near impossible to escape, holding him captive as long as was necessary to figure out how to deal with him. The shield was all but invisible even to Chichiri; his quarry would never detect it until it was too late. He just hoped it wouldn't be too late for him as well.

Everything rested upon having the advantage of surprise.

The faint creak of the snow heralded approaching footsteps. Working quickly, he made a few last adjustments and turned to face the new arrivals.

They were breathing hard, like they had run all the way up the mountain. The high altitude thinned the air and made it difficult to breathe, especially in this cold. Chichiri's breath fogged the air, but he didn't feel the cold. His skin had gone numb somewhere between stopping and spell weaving.

A rush of warmth filled him as he caught sight of Tasuki and Kouji cresting the peak, struggling to keep their footing on ice and loose shale, but it was quickly followed by dread.

Beneath a crystal clear sky studded with stars, only two of the three knew why the meeting took place. One shrouded in darkness, two armored with light, but at least one of the three would not leave with his life.

----------

He stumbled slightly as the heady sensation of heart-wrenching fear washed over his soul. He could taste it, feel it, heavy in the air, potent enough to get drunk on a sip. And drink it he did, in greedy draughts before reigning in his hunger.

The fear of a priest was something to savor.

----------

Tasuki felt lightheaded as he gasped for breath. He'd done stupider things than run up a mountain in the middle of a freeze after spending several weeks in the lowlands, where the air was thicker. He couldn't think of any right now, but maybe that was just the lack of oxygen...

A few more deep breaths and the ache in his lungs subsided, allowing the bandit to focus on his reason for being there. Tasuki let wonder override worry as he finally caught sight of his love.

The monk was frosted by moonlight and the sparkle of the snow. It washed all color from his face, his clothes, his hair, leaving Chichiri's slender body a finely cut figure of smoky silver-gray.

For just a moment, a glimmer of light shone red in his good eye, sending a chill down Tasuki's spine.

The redhead took a few hesitant steps forward, but stopped at the flicker of pain that crossed Chichiri's face.

Something was wrong, that much was obvious. Why else would his long time lover take off in the middle of the night and be freezing his ass off on a snow covered peak?

His tongue played thoughtfully with his fangs as he submerged his consciousness until he could feel the tug of his soul bond to the reticent monk. Through the link of their hearts he could feel

::fear:: of the two men standing before him. Of _him_? His lover and best friend? Yes, but for them as well.

::hope:: when he saw him and sorrow, regret, resignation to ::death!? He thinks he's gonna die! Why? What would kill him?::

and a second pull so faint it almost slipped by without notice, but tainted with malice and the cloying smell of death.

He unconsciously lifted his nose to the air, a wolf scenting the wind for danger. He couldn't tell where it lead, this spot of evil, the line was so faint and he had to struggle to stay in trance...he'd never been one for meditation...it was so hard to follow the trail...

::Oh, shit...::

PAIN!

----------

Oh, this was too sweet! The fool couldn't tell which bore the aura of evil, and he had no spells prepared!

The blue-haired bitch had sensed him and his hand in the havoc that had plagued the bandit keep for so many days. The motivation behind the anger, lust, greed, murder -- rage was his dog, chaos his whore, both followed him faithfully and obeyed every whim while presumption and misunderstanding tagged along for the ride.

Human nature was amusing, so easy to twist and manipulate.

And only the monk had suspected.

But for all that the Seishi had sensed his presence and the malicious mischief he caused, Chichiri still couldn't pin down his location. An excusable failure in the keep where he'd skipped from person to person, mind to mind, the transition no more arduous than the brushing of a shoulder.

But here...here! Only two people before him and he still didn't know! He may have been a monk and a mage, but he was laughable in his incompetence!

Still, like a puppy yapping at a horse, he was a rather troublesome annoyance.

A bother. But one to be handled with some little care.

He looked forward to watching him die. Listen to his screams and the 'pop' of separating joints as he was slowly pulled limb from limb. Or perhaps claw open his stomach, watch the look on his face as his own steaming entrails piled at his feet.

Cut his throat? Too clean. Break his mind? Too quick. Crack open his ribs, spread the chest cavity wide just to watch the last flutters of a faltering heart? Now _that_ had potential.

He caught himself just before he licked his lips. Ah, ah, ah! He mustn't do anything out of character, or he'd give himself away prematurely.

It would be much more fun to toy with him first, give him false hope and then wrench it away. The shattering of the heart would serve as appetizer with the breaking of the body as the dessert.

But the slow crushing of a soul, _that_ would be the main course.

And the best part of all was that, unlike others that had come before him, he would be fully aware of his fate.

Suppressing a gleeful giggle, Azareal called Fire to his hand.

----------

Suzaku, but Tasuki looked lovely in the moonlight! He was all graceful power and wild spirit, each step forward soundless and sure. Chichiri had to fight to slow his heart and keep his feet from carrying him to the safety of his lover's embrace.

A sudden fluctuation in chi shook the glamour from the monk's eye and, fumbling frantically for the trigger, he sprung the trap, unable to do anything but watch as the blast caught Tasuki full in the back. Tasuki's golden eyes widened, and for a split second that seemed to last forever, locked on Chichiri's before he collapsing bonelessly to the ground. ::No...:: he looked up just as the demon behind Kouji's eyes hit him square in the chest with a spell of paralysis.

"Well, well," Azarael drawled with a self-satisfied smirk, "what _do_ we have here?" His hand struck as swift as a striking snake, catching Chichiri's jaw in his fingers and forcing him to look up and meet his eyes. He watched in amusement as Chichiri's eye flickered toward his lover's still body. "What's wrong? Couldn't protect your little toy?" The demon that was not Kouji released Chichiri's chin and stepped back a pace.

The punch to the stomach caught the monk by surprise, and he doubled over just in time to catch Kouji's booted foot as it connected with his chin.

Gasping for breath, Chichiri curled into a ball and coughed convulsively, blood running from the corner of his mouth to drip, steaming, on to the freezing stone. Chichiri feebly tried to lift himself to his knees, but his head was spinning too much to balance, and he couldn't so much as draw a breath without whimpering in pain.

All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and his own faint whimper...whimper? No, groan. Was that a groan he heard?

His eye cracked open enough to focus on the demon standing over him and the ever-so-faint wrinkling of Tasuki's brow as the bandit emitted a low groan. ::Alive!:: his mind whispered jubilantly, ::Tasuki is alive! I triggered my spell so quickly...I didn't have time to really _focus_...did the shields of the trap protect Tasuki from the blast when they mistakenly snared him?::

He didn't care -- couldn't care -- how it happened. The only thing that mattered was that his love was _alive_ and safely cocooned within the strongest shield Chichiri could create, protected from the demon's threats on either the physical or spiritual plane.

Now, with Tasuki out of harms way, Chichiri could fight back! He could strike fast and hard and rid the world of this evil! He could...he could move...though still crippled by stabbing pain, the paralysis was gone.

Eye flying up to look at the demon, the battered monk caught the split second when the demon's attention wavered, eyes flickering over to see why the redhead was still alive.

----------

The eyelashes of Azareal's stolen body fluttered to half-mast as the coppery scent of blood flooded his senses. A vibrant tingle of pleasure surged through him and a delicious ache grew in his groin, pressing eagerly against Kouji's loose pants.

::Too long...:: Azareal gasped, a soft moan escaped his lips as he roughly raked his fingernails across his clothed erection. ::It's been _so_ long since I've really played...:: since he had the time to savor the kill and the blood and the pain and _oh_, the pure _LUST_ he couldn't, wouldn't, didn't _want_ to control! Just indulge and savor, quench in his victim's pain and screams as he ripped through their body without mercy or thought for the damage, the blood, the agony it caused.

An image of the blue-haired monk lying crumpled at Kouji's feet flitted through Azareal's mind. ::Yessssss...:: Exerting his little-used self control, the demon removed his hand from his crotch. Now _there_ was an idea! How delicious it would be to fuck the little slut, to tease and arouse him, to make him _beg_ for mercy before taking him dry and feasting on his tears sweetened with pain and shame.

It would break him.

Perfect.

"Nnnnngggg..." Azareal's eyes flew open at the unexpected sound and he turned his head to look at the slut's redheaded lover.

Tasuki's fingers clenched experimentally as he began to regain control of his body.

::_WHAT_?? He's _NOT DEAD_!?:: The demon's eyes narrowed with anger. ::Looks like he was stronger than I expected.:: He called a shard of fire to his hand, prepared to stab it right through Tasuki's heart, but before he could take a single step, the fire dissipated into the dry air.

"What...?" A subtle burning sensation started in the small of Kouji's back, spreading like wildfire through his veins and leaving icy numbness in its wake. Staggering as he fought to remain standing, Azareal barely caught a glimpse of the very man -- the very _monk_ -- whose rape he had been ready to revel in, staring up at him with one hand outstretched, the ghostly after image of magic hovering all about his battered body.

For the first time in his eons of existence, the fallen angel known as Azareal feared for his demonic spirit. His stolen vision was darkening at the edges, puffs of fog marking shallow, labored breaths.

This body was dying all around him and here he was, tangled and bound by the strings of one man's soul. The bandit's flesh seemed to cling to him, determined to drag him down to oblivion until, with one last desperate wrench, Azareal tore himself free and once more became a disembodied wraith.

----------

Tasuki watched dazedly as Kouji's knees slowly buckled and the empty husk sprawled limply across the ground between the two former Seishi.

Tasuki wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but he trusted Chichiri with all his heart and soul. The injuries dealt to him and his lover argued that the monk had a reason behind his attack. So no matter how much his heart ached at the death of his best friend and partner in crime, he would bite back his tears...and hope he was doing the right thing by not interfering.

Unshed tears shone in Chichiri's eye as he tried to focus upon the amorphous spirit instead of his friend's remains.

Azareal was free. Chichiri's last ditch spell hadn't been strong enough to hold him, but it had delayed him long enough that he had to find a new host _now_, lest he remain intangible for too long and his soul simply evaporate into the air.

...But there was no one to take. Not a single living creature intelligent enough to survive possession stirred for miles around, and Tasuki was sheltered by mage-craft.

Chichiri watched impassively as Azareal's attention lighted upon him. The demon's ghostly lips twisted into a malicious grin ::maybe I _will_ get to play with him after all:: and dove down into the monk's weakened body -- no, into _his_ new body.

A feral cry rose in the demon's insubstantial throat as he surged into Chichiri...and slammed headfirst into a spell of such power, such strength, that even the gods themselves would be hard pressed to break it.

----------

Hundreds of miles away, Taiitsukun frowned as something strong, evil -- a soul dark as pitch -- grated against the protection spells she had layered and ingrained into Chichiri's beads the day he had become her pupil. Designed to guard against assaults of the spiritual persuasion, they were worthless against physical or magical attacks. Demonic possession, however, was right up its alley.

She smiled grimly as she felt the spells falter, then hold fast. Whoever had dared try to invade the monk's soul was in for an unpleasant surprise.

----------

Oh, Suzaku, he couldn't breathe! Darkness drowned out the light of the stars, worming its way into his throat and nose. It stole his sight and silenced his voice -- he could feel himself screaming, but it took his hearing as well.

A tendril of nothingness wriggled into his veins, searching for that spark of _self_ nestled deep in -- ah, there it was! -- An unearthly shriek split Chichiri's head as power streaked up the strands of flat blackness, leaving them charred and brittle.

The moment Azareal tried to touch his soul, a shining barrier sprung up between them, formed of magic and motherly love, bearing Taiitsukun's unmistakable signature. It cradled his being gently in its warmth and lent him its strength as the demon's shadowed soul crumbled to dust and drifted away.

The sickening darkness that had stolen his senses gradually melted away, subsiding in favor of the blessed peace that carried him into oblivion.

----------

The exhausted monk woke to the sound of his lover's voice and strong arms cradling him against the younger man's chest.

The bandit smiled sadly as Chichiri's eye eased open. He buried his face against Chichiri's neck and, for an endless moment, just held him and wept tears of relief.

"Tasuki."

The bandit lifted his head as Chichiri whispered his name. "Yeah, Chiri?"

"I'm sorry." The words seemed woefully inadequate. There were so many things he wanted to say, but all his eloquence, honed by years of listening and giving advice deserted him. No matter how clearly he could hear the words in his mind, somewhere betwixt thoughts and lips, they got twisted around into hopeless tangles. All he could say were those worthless words "I'm sorry" and hope Tasuki would understand that it was for the lies and the deception and Kouji and...

Everything.

A fresh wave of tears stung Tasuki's eyes. Yes, he understood. He sniffled loudly and climbed to his feet, lending his weakened love a shoulder to lean on as they stumbled their way down the slippery slope.

But despite the promise of a warm bed back at the stronghold and a night spent curled against his fiery lover, a sliver of dread still chilled him. The words the demon hissed with its last breath resounded hollowly in his mind.

"This isn't over you little bitch. _You will PAY_! If I don't find you in this life, I will hunt you in the next...and the next...and the next...I'll get so close to you that you can feel my breath on your neck and you'll think you're going crazy 'cause you see no one there. I will get _so_ close to you...your family...to all those you hold dear...and then kill them...just to watch you suffer."

A shiver ran up Chichiri's spine.

Those words weren't a threat. No.

They were a promise.

TBC


	2. chapter 1

Title: Angel's Fall  
Part: 1/?  
Author: focsfyr  
Pairing: TasukiChichiri  
Warnings: yaoi, language, AU (reincarnation), angst  
Chapter Rating: PG-15 (for bloody/graphic imagery)  
Disclaimer: I don't own them and have no money. No copyright infringements are intended.  
Archive: my site and any/all official ML archives, anyone else, just ask  
C&C: please!

Author's note: this is sort of a filler chapter to set the stage for the rest of the story, as well as introduce a few characters that will be mentioned/playing a part in the next few chapters.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta and list-sib, Asidian Morris

::thoughts::  
_emphasis and the occasional sound_  
random language that I made up

ANGEL'S FALL

The guard heaved a sigh of relief as Detective Kou approached the cellblock, flashing her badge as proof of identification.

"Jiang, thank god you're finally here!" He unlocked the heavy gate. "He's been asking for you for you for hours and just won't shut up. Keeps raving 'bout how he's gotta see the bitch—no 'fense Detective—that found him at least once before he dies."

The gate slammed shut behind her with an ear-splitting screech. Jiang flinched. ::Feh.:: She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. ::Get a hold of yourself, girl. Don't freak out now!::

For months, she spent every waking moment tracking down a serial killer, a mass murderer that butchered his victims and tied them up with their own entrails, then ate breakfast at their kitchen table while tracing patterns in the congealing blood.

For nearly three months, Garret Ayuru had been the center of her life, taking precedence over friends and family. She spent more time studying his patterns and profile than she did with her long-time lover. But she had only once laid eyes upon him. Immediately upon capture, he'd been carted away, and she hadn't seen him since.

He hadn't even been in the courtroom when she testified against him.

"Too dangerous," the police chief told her, "there's no telling what he'll try. His actions could bias the jury and we don't want the hassle of a mistrial." Ayuru loathed his captor—meaning her, the one who had managed to track him down—with a burning obsession symptomatic of his psychosis. It was all too likely he would've made an attempt on her life right there before the judge.

So she never again met him face to face. And she was thankful. Jiang was a good detective, didn't let things get to her, but just having to track him sent shivers down her spine.

After seeing the remains, finding the evidence, drenching her hands in another's blood while futilely trying not to step in the victim's face—hell, it'd been hard to find enough to _call_ a victim—she wasn't sure she could face him. The list of horrors was too long, the number of victims too high. She wasn't even sure how she herself would react to really meeting him, and as a member of the police force, that element of uncertainty was disconcerting.

Yet here she was, the day before the execution, braving the demon in his own lair at his own behest, walking into hell with her eyes wide open.

::What the fuck am I doing?::

For a moment she considered leaving, running back to the precinct with her proverbial tail tucked between her legs, but by the time the thought got past her stubborn pride, it was already too late. The second set of gates was locked behind her. Detective or not, she was now on foreign ground where the Warden ruled supreme, and every caged inmate would gladly rip out her throat for an extra pack of smokes.

The battle had been joined, and tough-as-nails Detective Kou had never been one to surrender.

The petit redhead's confident footsteps echoed hollowly as she made her way down death row. It was eerily silent. There were none of the jeers or catcalls a woman—even a cop—earned, simply by virtue of entering. Usually, anyone remotely female (and some that clearly weren't) was met with comments lewd enough to make a whore blush.

But not today. Stillness hung like a pall over the entire building. Silent shadowed figures huddled in each cell, the glitter of eyes betraying their presence, following her every step.

The skin on the back of her neck began to crawl. It felt like there was a gun aimed between her shoulder blades instead of emotionless eyes. Pure stubborn pride was all that kept her from quickening her pace.

Finally, after running the gauntlet, she reached the door that lead to the private quarters. The room the doomed spent their last seven days in.

"White" was the only way to describe it, because there really wasn't much more. Behind steel bars that sectioned off half the room, a grinning figure sprawled carelessly in a pale green plastic chair. With his limbs draped so haphazardly, the corners and arms had to be digging into him, but somehow he managed to look both comfortable and confident. He looked more like some rich little snob waiting for a limo than a serial killer awaiting Death.

Half a dozen video cameras swung around to mark her entrance as she closed the door and sat down in another irritating little chair. She swore they were made specifically to give people backaches because the only possible way to be comfortable was to sit so straight you'd think you had a pole up your ass.

She fought the urge to squirm as an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

God, she hated this.

Cameramen lined the walls like vultures, filming every moment of the bastard's last day for a documentary.

The death of a killer. People were fascinated by things like that. Any sort of disaster, scandal or atrocity was guaranteed to catch the public's attention and morbid curiosity. Then it would get broadcast on the six o'clock news so that thousands of people across the country could cluck their tongues saying "oh, how _awful_!" and then go on about their mundane lives without ever taking it seriously.

The only time anyone actually cared was when they numbered among those who were directly affected. To most of the public, it was nothing more than poorly scripted diversion.

The world's tragedies were entertainment as much as anything else and it made bad news one of the most lucrative businesses there was.

Damn the media and its blood money.

Jiang almost jumped as a sudden bark of laughter sounded from the holding cell. She mentally congratulated herself for not looking as unnerved as she felt. Hell, at least she'd caught herself before her fingers twitched toward her shoulder holster. Having that show up on national television would've been more than a little humiliating, and her Irish temper did not enjoy embarrassment.

"So, Detective, we finally meet." There was an intensity to his eyes that burned like dry ice, totally at odds with the voice that spilled from his lips. It was a baffling double standard that caught the detective off guard, a voice so soft and velvety it could lull anyone to sleep, coupled with eyes so full of cunning and malice they would likely haunt her nightmares for weeks.

It was the eyes that did it...that made him so terrifying. They were a crystalline blue so pale he almost looked blind, with a thin rim of dark indigo edging the iris. But Ayuru's (she refused to think of him as "Garret;" using his first name would have made it to personal for comfort) voice could convey volumes, as if to compensate for the aching void in his harsh... soulless... eyes.

You could stare into those eyes forever and not learn a thing about him, because there was nothing to see. He was concealed behind an absence—of emotion, of fear, of reaction and heat—everything except an echo of lust, which smoldered beneath the surface, just waiting for an excuse to loose its hunger.

But until it did, the killer stared out from dispassionate eyes not unlike those of a wolf... a wolf that knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

------

Scuffed steel bars set in a foot-deep slab of concrete separated Ayuru from the rest of the room, but that didn't stop them from being terrified of him and it didn't stop him from enjoying their fear.

Professional opinion aside, fear was not _sensed_ so much as _smelled_, in the faint traces of cold sweat on the skin and slightly sour scent of a mouth suddenly gone dry. All he had to do was let their terror feed his exhilaration and his eyes tell them that, yes, they should be afraid.

Because he _knew_ what people saw when looking into his eyes.

They could see in his stare that he didn't care whether they lived or died, their fate depended entirely upon their reaction to him. Should they flee, he would give chase. Should they defy, he would reach down their throats and rip out their hearts.

There were very few actions that would allow his prey to live—if there were indeed any. So far, he'd tallied nineteen known responses that resulted in death. Four had been repeated ::How boring.:: by more than one victim, bringing the body count to a staggering twenty-seven dead in two and a half months.

----------

Jiang swallowed nervously, trying to moisten a mouth gone dry with fear.

Ayaru's lips twitched in a brief semblance of a smirk.

Until this man—this _monster_—had looked her in the eye, she'd never really understood the reality of the word 'neutral.' Now, she wasn't sure that she wanted to.

Ayuru effortlessly uncurled his body and, with the deafening screech of plastic on concrete, dragged his chair to the limits of his cage so only three feet and inch-thick steel bars separated him from his foe. He settled himself almost primly on the seat, clasped hands resting in his lap, unblinking eyes staring at her from behind a veil of golden silk.

The shining strands of hair that had fallen loose across his face did nothing to mute the force of his stare. Again, Jiang resisted the urge to rest her hand on her gun. This was neither the time nor the place to give in to a show of nerves.

"I'd wondered what kind of woman it was who was talented enough to find me so quickly." One elegant hand caressed lovingly through the air, following the curve of her face. He laughed softly. "Your appearance belies your competence, Detective. Someone like you looks more suited to sewing. Soft, feminine...so easy to break..."

Jiang's nostrils flared and her eye gave a twitch. Her brother and sisters would have recognized that sign as a warning to all to get _out_ of her way, because she was pissed off her temper ran _hot_. Her fierce gray eyes almost screamed 'I am anything _but_ soft! I _earned_ my rank and respect, so go ahead and try pushing me... you'll lose.'

Her siblings would've been shocked at how calm she remained. "You'd be surprised how many people have thought that...at first." The pause was just subtle enough to avoid sounding arrogant, but she saw the point strike home nevertheless. "But being underestimated can have its advantages."

"I know—"

"Thought you would—"

"—and you got into my mind. That's something I didn't think anyone could do."

"Yeah, well it wasn't a picnic—"

"It wasn't supposed to be. I didn't think anyone would dare walk so far into the dark. You might have got lost, and then what would you do?"

"I have a good sense of direction. I got back by myself." Her dark eyes held steady; she was too stubborn a bitch to lose _this_ staring match.

His eyes narrowed. "I see..."

"I'm sure you do—"

...and flashed angrily. "I wasn't finished—"

"I know." It was her turn to taunt him with a mocking smile.

His expression remained cold and her smile grew a notch.

_This_ was familiar ground, this game of words. She'd played it with her siblings whenever she was at home. When you can't openly trade insults (like when your mother's in the room) it's all in the wording and the little tiny snubs.

Nervous or not, in this game Jiang was the master, and this heartless bastard wasn't going to win. She would _not_ be manipulated like some grass-green cadet who couldn't tell the trigger from the slide!

"Typical redhead, aren't you?" Only because she was listening for it did Jiang catch the note of anger in his voice. "Fiery little bitch with a temper to match—"

Her lip lifted in a snarl and she ground out "Yeah, no shit. Runs in the fam—"

"Ah yes, how _is_ your brother...and sisters?"

Ice ran down her back as Malice rose in his eyes.

::Fuck, he's playing my game!:: His expression just _screamed_ 'I know something that you wish you knew' and she'd caught that short pause ::What's he know 'bout Shun'u?:: that targeted her brother ::what's he done, how'd he know?!:: and something was wrong but she just couldn't place it...

"In college now? Or did your mother just throw them to the dogs? No? Well, he'll wish she had because ysaa'ra telirne dar ankeshen, telist. I'Duvaeol aal Dhar, vir Aeal nan im t'si." Jiang's blood ran cold. Though she couldn't understand the words that he spoke, they were somehow terrifying.

"Such a...sweet little family," he drawled out the words as if savoring the taste, "and such beautiful children."

She was well out of his reach, but could still feel his touch on her hair...

"Proud as a wolf, and every inch as lovely. 'Twould be a shame, wouldn't it, if someone broke that fire-bright spirit." His low purr moved fluidly from English to Japanese.

"If he fell in with the wrong people and got hooked on something so bad he'd do anything for the high. Sell himself, sell his body, _anything_ so long as he got to shoot up. Flat on his back with his heels in the air, spreading his legs for anyone who will take him. Blood coating his thighs and the customer's cock as he pounds into that sweet ass—"

"Shut up," she whispered.

"—and your _baby brother's teeth_ tearing into his own lips because of the pain in his ass and the bruises lying stark on young flesh. Tears on his face stinging the cuts and scrapes—"

"_Shut up_," a command, not a plea.

"—just like the trick's cum burns him up inside. Even as he tries to ignore the agony, the hot blood that trickles down his leg. He just takes his fee from the customer and slides the needle beneath his skin. Just a taste of bliss to tide him over until tomorrow night—"

_CRACK!!!_

Every one of the media men jumped as Jiang surged to her feet, the edge of her flimsy chair chipping as it crashed to the floor. She lunged, face twisted in fury, and dragged him forward by the collar until he was stopped by the bars.

She could feel the camera's on her back, taping her every move, but paid them no heed, instead focusing on the face mere inches from hers. She could feel his breath and his hair tickling her cheek. "Not one more word against my family," she hissed. "That had better not have been a threat, 'cause if you or any of your friends so much as _touch_ one of my siblings, you'll find out just how hot this bitch's temper runs."

Her glare met a dark grin. "Is that a threat, _Detective_?"

"A fact." He hit the floor hard as she pushed him away with all the not inconsiderable strength in her wiry body.

The cameras' blank eyes followed her out of the room before the door slammed in their faces.

::Scavengers, all of them. Jackals.::

Not like wolves.

Wolves were hunters. ::Genrou.:: Her brother's childhood nickname, still used by his friends meant 'wolf' in their father's native language. Who knew how it'd started—perhaps because of his eyes—but somehow it stuck...maybe because he despised his given name so much.

Whatever the case, the name certainly suited him, wild and loyal, a fighter to the core with 'fangs' to bare and golden eyes to boot. He was the only one in her family besides herself who inherited the red hair. Jiang and Shun'u, the oldest and youngest; all their other siblings were dark blond at best and blunter of feature.

Though Jiang, like Genrou, was far from vain, they both knew they'd gotten the looks in the family. But they'd certainly been deprived of the height. At a mere five foot four, Jiang was at least five inches shorter than even her youngest sister, and the tallest towered three inches over Genrou at a staggering six-two.

::Genrou.:: She picked worriedly at her nails as her thoughts turned back to Ayaru's words. They weren't at all based on fact. Logically, she knew her brother was fine, but...

But...she was worried, for no reason at all...except that even though Ayuru was securely behind bars, his words had the feel of a threat. Then there was the reference to wolves—she _knew_ he'd been talking about her brother—and the snippet of unknown language gnawed cruelly at her mind like it should _mean_ something to her...

...something unpleasant, something...vengeful? Perhaps, but whatever the intent, it had _felt_ like a threat against the only one of her siblings she could really stand to be around, and she couldn't stop thinking that...

She sighed worriedly.

She didn't know _what_ to think.

----------

Jiang Kou didn't watch the news the next day. She didn't have to.

All it was was a stale second-hand account of the execution of Garret Ayuru, coupled with a brief report on the near-riot of protestors that had mobbed the prison gates. Whether the protestors were for or against the execution, no one seemed to know. Everyone had their own reasons for joining the crowd, and no one was inclined to voice them on national television.

Thus the chilling facts of Ayuru's death remained locked in the minds of the few who witnessed the deed.

The public never knew of how the murderous blond was hobbled with the weight of half a dozen thick chains. Or how the other prisoners hooted and jeered, raucous as a murder of crows, but then fell strangely silent when Ayuru sauntered past, looking for all the world like an eccentric aristocrat. If one didn't know better, it would seem as if the guards that flanked Ayuru were a mere escort, and the firearms meant to protect him.

There was no mention of chained feet that followed dance steps on their way down the corridor, or the velvet voice, heavy with laughter, which crooned out a taunting song as the rattle of shackles morbidly marked the beat.

They didn't tell the public about how he kept humming that same tune, feral grin on his face, until the noxious hydrocyanic gas [1] silenced him forever.

Only one person, a petit redhead, noticed that from the moment he entered the room, Ayuru's eyes never left hers. Only she took note of that look, that knowing, dark look that vowed a long procession of pain and suffering to come.

_She_ took to heart the foreboding warning in the tune. She felt the chill touch of truth in his words, in the soft statement that he would be _back_.

By the time she got home, Jiang was exhausted. She left her clothes in a heap by the bed and curled up in her down comforter. Moments later, she had dozed off, lulled by the song echoing in her head.

"Tiiiime is on my siide..."

Jiang didn't sleep well that night. Her dreams were fraught with demons.

TBC

[1] Yep, that's the stuff used in the gas chambers—barbaric practice that it is. It's not terribly quick, nor is even remotely humane.  
  
The little bit the demon says in the weird language is: vengeance is sweet and torture, even sweeter. The Fallen embody Evil, and I'm out for blood


	3. chapter 2

Title: Angel's Fall  
Part: 2/?  
Author: focsfyr  
Pairing: TasukiChichiri  
Warnings: yaoi, AU (reincarnation), angst  
Chapter Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the movie "Fallen." No copyright infringements are intended.  
Archive: my site, fanfiction.net (pen-name D. focsfyr) and the ML archive. Anyone else, just ask  
C&C: loved

::thoughts::  
_emphasis and the occasional sound  
_random language that I made up

ANGEL'S FALL

Despite what the world at large thought, Shun'u "Genrou" Kou had always been a light sleeper. The moment he sensed an unexpected movement, his mind was awake and ready for action...until his subconscious identified the noise as something routine and relatively harmless.

It wasn't _his_ fault the alarm clock fell into the "routine" category. It didn't even really wake him up any more; he just rolled out of bed, staggered across the room, turned it off and fell back to the mattress. He went through the motions in a daze.

It wasn't his fault that he slept through the second alarm, either. His watch alarm turned _itself_ off after ten minutes, and was too quiet to penetrate his sleep-fogged mind anyway.

Half an hour after ignoring two alarms and rolling over so the morning sun no longer shone in his eyes, it was no great shock that Shun'u didn't get out of bed when someone started pounding on the door to his apartment.

"GENROU! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! Get your lazy ass _out_ of bed before I kick down this door and make you!"

The semi-conscious redhead pressed a pillow against his ears.

_BAM BAM BAM_

::Dammit you queer bastard, can't you just let me sleep?:: Though accustomed to the morning drama of five sisters and one bathroom, Genrou was no match for an irate best friend.

His sisters' tempers couldn't hold a candle to a cross dresser scorned.

_splash_!

"AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!" Genrou yelped and tumbled out of bed to the wooden floor, sheets a tangled mess around his legs.

The redhead shoved wet bangs out of his eyes and glared at his sniggering assailant.

It didn't help. If anything, the other boy laughed even harder, collapsing into giggles and scattering a few makeshift lock picks across the floor.

::'Rou-chan's just too cute for his own good!:: Chuin[1] snickered to himself. ::No wonder half the girls at school regularly break their hearts over him!::

"You _BITCH_!" Genrou lunged to his feet, tackling the long-haired boy to the ground. The cross dresser screeched theatrically as his skirt flared out, exposing the long line of his legs...then promptly got the redhead in a headlock. Genrou retaliated with a sharp jab to the stomach and tried to squirm free.

It all went downhill from there.

They kicked. They pushed. They tickled, elbowed, grappled and struggled until they were both laughing hopelessly and short of breath.

But no matter how wildly they fought, Genrou made certain not to pull his friend's hair. The first (and _only_) time he had yanked that dark ponytail he'd ended up with a black eye and a newfound respect for his slender friend's strength.

Chuin made a habit of wearing girl's clothes, but he could be _damn_ intimidating when he wanted to!

Finally, by silent agreement, the wrestling match was over and the two friends sprawled across the sun-warmed floor.

They looked at each other. A damp lock of hair fell into Genrou's eye, forcing the cross dresser to smother another round of giggles.

"So, why the hell'd ya drench me?"

Chuin smiled impishly. "It always takes _sooo_ long for me to drag you out of bed, and then we're always late, so I decided to try something new."

"Did it ever occur to you to come over earlier? Like maybe _more_ than twenty minutes before school? Just for variety? _Maybe_ even so we wouldn't have to run?"

The brunette gave him a disgusted look.

"What?! Quit lookin' at me like that, it's a perfectly good suggestion!"

"I _do_."

Shun'u blinked. "Who proposed?"

"Moron. I _usually_ start bashing in your door 'round seven. In case you hadn't noticed, that's an _hour_ before class starts and you _still_ make us late."

"...Oh..." The redhead sat up and yawned hugely. "What time's it?"

"Ten 'til." Chuin smirked. ::This should be entertaining.::

He was right.

"WHAT?!?" Genrou actually _shrieked_ as he leaped to his feet and dashed to the closet. Shit. No clean shirts. He snatched a ratty T-shirt off the top of the dirty clothes pile and tossed it on the bed, pulling on a mostly-clean pair of jeans while frantically searching for his shoes.

::Where the fuck did I put 'em?!:: The redhead fell flat on his face as he tripped over his backpack.

::Owww...oh! There they are!:: He hauled his shoes out from under the bed and somehow succeeded in putting on both shoes and shirt while shoving his books into his backpack. Chuin tossed Genrou his jacket, grabbed his own book bag and the two boys were gone, pounding down the hall in hopes that they would beat the teacher to their first class.

----------

Apparently Lady Luck hadn't _entirely_ deserted them. The teacher was there, but she was talking to the TA [2] and not paying attention to the students that were chatting.

The two slid through the open door, making a bee-line for their seats.

"_Mister_ Kou."

Genrou froze.

"And Mister Ryo. _So_ nice of you to join us."

Genrou and Chuin exchanged a pained glance and sank into their seats.

::Oh look, here comes demerit number eight, along with afternoon detention.:: The redhead stifled a groan. Only midway through the semester and already he had teachers out for his blood.

It looked like his track record was screwing him again.

----------

Luckily, they both had last period free, and with the block scheduling that meant an hour and a half of free time between the end of lunch and going to receive their sentence. Determined to make the most of it, the two friends spent that time on worthwhile pursuits like snacking in the quad while smirking at the class-bound kids that looked wistfully out the window.

It was good to be a senior. You got away with _everything_!

Well...almost.

Half an hour later, their time ran out and the two miscreants abandoned their spot in the sun for the dreary confines of a class room.

----------

Genrou stared into space as their teacher droned on, berating them for their repeated tardiness.

It was just their luck that their first period teacher was not only neurotically punctual, but also despised "slovenly children who wore clothing not appropriate for a school environment (she cast a pointed glare at Chuin's short skirt) and disrespected their teachers by being constantly late."

The brunette snapped his gum (god _damn_ that was annoying!) and continued filing his nails to points with a lackadaisical smirk.

Genrou couldn't help but grin at his friend's actions. ::What was it he said? All the better to claw someone with?::

Those few who had tried to beat up the "prissy fag" had learned very quickly just how "prissy" he was. Chuin didn't consider himself bound to male fighting protocol (i.e. punches, kicks and pushes...no hair pulling or scratching allowed) since the reason he was targeted was his girly demeanor.

Chuin had no qualms with putting those manicured talons to good use, and several members of the football team had the scars to prove it. Of course, it helped that he also knew dozens of dirty little street-fighting tricks and could punch hard enough to deck anyone -- though to date, there had been no broken bones, just a few black eyes and loosened teeth.

Who said football players are brainless? Genrou thought they'd shown amazing intellect by taking the bruises as a hint to piss off before their prospective victim _really_ got mad.

"Is that _quite_ clear, gentlemen?"

The redhead lurched back to the present a moment too late to beat his friend's reply.

"Crystal," the brunette drawled, managing to sound both respectful and impertinent as he held his hand out before him and inspected his nails. "Now, if you'll excuse us, it's time we left to pay our penance."

Without awaiting permission to leave, Chuin made a mocking bow and sauntered out of the room, ponytail lashing behind him.

----------

When Genrou finally got home, he found the door to his apartment unlocked. That in itself wasn't much cause for worry. The apartments near the campus were used exclusively by students and were surprisingly safe. Hell, there were some people in his building that left their door unlocked almost all the time, knowing that the unspoken rule was if a door was shut and no one answered your knock, you leave.

There were enough groups of friends living on this floor that if something was stolen, the thief _would_ be found.

All in all, it worked surprisingly well, and pity the moron that dared to screw up their system.

Thing was, there was _someone_ in Genrou's apartment. Nothing was out of place. There was no evidence of an intruder, but that didn't matter. Someone was _there_. Genrou could feel it. The only person that had standing permission to come in whenever he wanted was Chuin, and he had just gone off to his _own_ room.

The redhead slipped into his apartment and sidled along the wall, noting Chuin's lock picks still lying just inside the doorway to his bedroom.

He crept down the hall, past a tiny kitchen and bathroom, all his attention focused on the hushed _presence_ in his room. A rush of adrenaline tingled through his body and he drew his switchblade from its belt sheath.

Genrou nearly jumped out of his skin when a loud voice rang out right behind him.

"Nice work your friend does."

The redhead whirled and glared back the way he came. The hall was empty. He swallowed nervously, ears straining for any hint of the intruder's whereabouts.

An amused snort broke the silence. "In the kitchen, genius."

Genrou peeked through the doorway and immediately covered his surprise with a scowl. "Doncha know there's a law against breaking and entering?" he frowned at the woman casually seated on his kitchen counter.

"Don't you know the police have the right to enter if they believe the situation warrants it?" his sister mocked, hand gesturing toward the front door. "I believe a door left ajar with the room showing signs of a struggle constitute enough reasonable suspicion to justify my presence."

A challenging grin spread across her face as Genrou's frown deepened. He hated it when someone usurped his role as resident smart-ass.

Jiang saw the scowl and silently resolved to do it more often. It would irk Genrou to no end if she acted as cocky as _he_ usually did. "What?" she crooned obnoxiously, "You gonna report me, Shun? When all I did was come to visit my _darling_ baby brother?"

Genrou glared poisonously at Jiang and their gazes locked, neither one willing to back down first.

Jiang's grin widened imperceptibly as she watched her brother try to hold his stern expression. He never _could_ stay annoyed when faced with a grin, and once he cracked a smile the whole façade would come tumbling down.

From the way his lips were beginning to quirk, she knew it wouldn't be much longer.

Restrained laugher is the easiest to provoke.

Without warning, the smile vanished from her face like fog in the morning sun and her pale gray eyes went hard. "Yeah, that's it, Gen-chan," she glowered. "Don't you _dare_ crack a smile."

In moments they were both grinning like maniacs and carefully smothered snickers progressed to full-scale laughter. They wrapped each other in a bone-creaking hug and laughed to hard their eyes began to tear up.

Jiang finally pulled away and scrubbed the tears from her eyes. "God, I needed that! It's good to see ya, bro."

Genrou responded with another quick hug and ruffled her hair. "You too, sis."

"Hey!" Jiang protested in mock outrage, "Since when do _you_ get to mess up _my_ hair?"

Genrou grinned unrepentantly. "Since I got taller 'n you."

"Watch it, brat. You _know_ I can kick your ass!"

"Hah!" he scoffed.

She was right though, and he knew it.

Being a woman in law enforcement meant she had to be tougher than everyone else, tough enough to hold her own in a fight. She was a crack shot with most firearms and could use a knife like a pro, but it was hand to hand fighting that had earned Jiang her respect.

Jiang was only 5' 4" tall, making her the prime target of anyone who wanted to kill an officer or obtain a hostage. Knowing that she was often judged to be the weakest and most vulnerable of a group, Jiang made a point to be one of the strongest. She'd learned self-defense, aikido [3] and ninjitsu [4]. She kept her petit body strong and flexible, using her lower center of gravity to her great advantage. Anyone who though her an easy target would very painfully be dissuaded of the notion.

Add to that a hefty array of rather illicit skills including picking locks, throwing knives and being able to hot-wire almost anything, and Jiang became a very formidable enemy and a competent friend.

Which brought Genrou to another point. "What didja mean 'my friend does nice work'?"

She held up a thin, flat metal rod: one of Chuin's lock-picks.

"These aren't store bought," she announced. "They're surprisingly well made and polished for something he probably whipped up in metal shop. They're a lot better than any homemade kit _I've_ ever seen."

Genrou rolled his eyes. Leave it to Jiang to compliment something like that. It was probably the highest praise she'd ever given the cross-dresser (unless you counted her jokingly complimenting Chuin's fashion sense).

"I'll tell him to make you some for Christmas," he mocked.

"Would you?" She was dead serious. "A good set really costs 'cause so many of the commercial producers use rather inferior metal."

"...Yeah...sure."

"Cool."

"Now why're you here anyway?" Genrou asked. "I _know_ you didn't pay those extortionate parking fees just to say 'hi.' What's up?"

The petite redhead fell silent, her lighthearted grin vanishing. Instantly, Genrou's face sobered.

If "Detective Kou" was coming out to play, it had to be bad. Jiang tried not to talk shop around the family. All of their relatives (Jiang and Genrou not excluded) were extremely nosey, and it was frustrating for _everyone_ since she couldn't discuss the details of her cases.

"I just finished up a hard case," she said, "A real nasty piece of work. They even stepped up the time-table for his execution. Most people wait on death row for years...he was only there a few months."

Genrou blinked in astonishment. "Ya mean that serial killer that was on th' news the other night?"

"Ayuru? Yeah."

"...Damn...You were on that case?"

Jiang nodded. "Not only that, I was the one who caught him."

Silence.

"So, what's up with you" she asked, firmly steering the conversation elsewhere. "Anything interesting going on?"

He snorted and followed her lead. "Other than detentions and my teachers hating me? No. School's still boring, homework still sucks and weekends are still too short. Other than that, everything's fine -- oh, except some idiot tried to pick a fight with Chuin again."

Despite herself, Jiang smirked. "I'm not gonna have to lend you money to bail him out, am I?"

He shot her a wounded look. "Of course not! That was a once off --"

His sister arched an eloquent eyebrow.

"Oh c'mon, sis! Everyone knows he's not one to throw the first punch. It wasn't _his_ fault that some moron called the cops. And you got your money back after the hearing..."

His face was so earnest she just had to laugh.

Her brother was addicted to mischief, but he had a good heart. On those rare occasions when his good will showed through, you couldn't help but love him.

"I know, I know," she laughed. "I'm just teasing."

"_Sure_ ya were."

"Really!" she protested with wide-eyed innocence. She knew he'd never buy it, but hell, she wasn't even trying! Over the years, the two siblings had raised bickering to an artful form of entertainment. Their caustic exchanges may have seemed bad tempered, but both of them enjoyed trying to verbally outmaneuver the other with puns, needling and perverse double-meanings.

There were distinct benefits to being able to make your own entertainment when there was none to be found and confuse everyone else in the process.

"Now then," she said, once again serious, "Where were we?"

"My fascinating life."

"Oh," she smirked, "Yeah. Well, I was just wondering how things were going for you. Wondering if anything...strange...had happened recently."

Genrou blinked in bewilderment. "Why wouldja ask that?"

She took a deep breath -- then paused. "It's stupid," she warned.

"So am I."

"And wildly improbable -- at least a little bit ridiculous."

"I'm good at ridiculous."

"Quite honestly, it's bordering on paranoia..."

"_JIANG_!" he shouted, "Just spit it out already!"

For the first time in his life, Genrou saw his fire-cracker of a sister at a loss for words. Jiang sighed heavily and prepared to be scoffed at. "I've just had this really bad feeling..." She paused.

No laughter.

"When I went to see Ayuru a few days before his execution, he...said some things that really creeped me out. He made threats against you --"

"You mean our family --" he corrected.

"No. Against _you_."

"But...how'd he know...?"

Jiang shook her head. "I don't know. He didn't even know who _I_ was until after he'd been arrested, but somehow he found out about you."

"Creepy."

She nodded. For a moment she reconsidered her decision to tell Genrou the whole truth. The more she though about it, the more it all seemed to be the product of paranoia run rampant. Was her uneasy suspicion really worth terrifying her brother?

She recalled the knowledgeable malice she had seen in Ayuru's eyes.

Yes. The deceased killer's words may be empty threats, but her instincts were telling her otherwise. If nothing happened, then they'd both feel like fools for a while, but if his threats proved to be real...

Well, at least they'd have some warning.

"It's more than creepy," she said, "It's frighteningly accurate. He knew your nickname, Gen-chan. He spoke to me in Japanese, and then in some language I didn't recognize. I don't know what it was, but it _felt_ wrong. It was dark, dangerous and reeked of blood." Her words stumbled over each other, tripping up her tongue. Though every word she spoke was true to her conversation with Ayuru, no language she knew possessed the words to describe the _feel_.

"Listening to him was like stepping barefoot on something slimy in a dark room...and then feeling it move," she continued. "It sent a shudder right down my spine, and with every passing second the tension built.

"Trust me, Genrou, there was something of pure evil in that man. It showed in everything he said and everything he did. And his eyes...It was like he knew something he shouldn't...and was gloating."

The room fell silent, the noise of the streets only faintly audible through the walls. Even the bright laughter that trickled from the neighboring apartment could not shake loose the somber atmosphere that weighed down on the two siblings.

Jiang gathered up her keys and jacket and, hesitating a moment to place a small package on the table, wordlessly left the apartment.

Standing alone in the daytime glare of his tiny kitchen, Genrou found himself, for the first time in years, fearful of what night would bring.

[1] Nope, it's not Nuriko. Ryu Chuin is _Tomo's_ real name. Personally, he's my favorite Seiryuu seishi, and I don't think he gets _nearly_ enough recognition as a potential fic character (especially since he's one of the two official gay characters in Fushigi Yuugi)

[2] Teacher's Assistant

[3] Aikido is a martial art that is primarily used not to attack, but to defend (except for the moves that included in fighting with a bo-staff or boken. Those _definitely_ are aggressive.) It's a good form of martial arts for girls because it's not dependent upon pure strength, but on manipulating the other person's center of gravity to pull them off balance. Then you use a variety of holds and twists to take them down and keep them down without hurting them.  
Since girls have a lower center of gravity than boys as well as generally being shorter, they actually have an advantage.  
My first Sensei explained it as "taking down the attacker quickly without hurting them…Unless they decide to struggle, in which case it's gonna hurt like a bitch." Once you've got the person under control, any struggle will wrench their joints, which makes it _very_ difficult for them to escape without causing themselves a great deal of pain and/or tearing tendons, ligaments or breaking bones.

[4] Ninjitsu isn't really built on a moral code like most martial arts. There is a lot of work done with a short staff as well as some knife work and throwing stars. (Note: throwing stars were not actually made to be thrown. They are palmed so that two of the edges (on a three pronged star) barely stick out and are used to cut throats etc.) A lot of the knife work is disengages, and disarming. The martial art is made up of five basic moves: earth, wind, fire, water and void. The idea is that the movements of these moves mimic the element they are named after. There are a lot of pressure point moves, emphasizing the pressure points in the wrist, forearm and elbow.  
Most ninjitsu moves are not flashy. They tend to be very balanced and quick. They're meant to kill, not to intimidate (which is why there are no ninjitsu tournaments). There is some sword play in ninjitsu. Lots of rolls...forwards, backwards, sideways, spring rolls, flying rolls with weapons...jumping over people and rolling (to get height)


	4. chapter 3

Title: Angel's Fall  
Part: 3/?  
Author: focsfyr  
Pairing: TasukiChichiri  
Warnings: yaoi, AU (reincarnation), angst  
Chapter Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Fushigi Yuugi, or the movie "Fallen" from which I drew my inspiration. No copyright infringements are intended.  
Archive: my site, fanfiction.net (pen-name D. focsfyr) and the ML archive. Anyone else, just ask  
C&C: loved

::thoughts::  
_emphasis and the occasional sound effect_

Too many shadows, whispering voices,  
Faces on posters, too many choices  
If, when, why, what, how much have you got?  
Have you got it together?  
If so, how often?  
Which do you choose a hard or soft option?  
-Pet Shop Boys "West End Girls"

ANGEL'S FALL

Genrou trudged dispiritedly down the empty street, droplets of misty of rain clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

The noon-time sun was completely hidden behind a dull, gray layer of clouds. Everything seemed muffled in an air of pervasive gloom. The street was empty of all but an unlucky few who hastened their steps in hopes of reaching their destination before it _really_ started to rain. Whatever the reason, though, the lowering clouds withheld their burden, yielding instead a light drizzle that worked its way into every opening in Genrou's heavy leather jacket.

The redhead grimaced as the wet hem of his pants slapped damply against his ankles. A bead of water trickled down his face and hung on the end of his nose.

He snorted and shook the offending drop free.

Genrou absolutely hated weather like this. It was just dismal and damp enough to make you uncomfortable, but not enough to warrant the use of an umbrella or rain jacket. To his way of thinking, if it was going to rain it should actually _rain_, 'cause you can play in the rain, but you just _can't_ play in the overcast. [1]

Of course, it'd be _much_ nicer if it didn't rain at all. Fun as it could be, rain was inevitably a pain in the ass...especially when it seeped into a backpack full of books and homework. This was a far cry from the Indian summer [2] they _should_ be having this early in October.

Finally sighting his goal, Genrou cut across the campus' sodden lawn, heading for what he _thought_ was the Cultural Sciences building. He didn't really know who he should talk to, but he figured an anthropology professor would be a good place to start. If he was wrong and this _wasn't_ the right place, surely someone could tell him who he _should_ go to.

He deliberately scuffed his shoes along the pavements, leaving steaks of grassy mud in his wake.

There had to be _someone_ around here that knew something about ancient languages. He, himself, had heard enough similarities in the intonation and speech patterns to identify part of the man's speech as being middle-eastern in origin. There'd also been a smattering of what sounded like an old form of Japanese, and bits of a language that seemed to hover somewhere between Irish and Scottish Gaelic. Some parts had even born a passing relation to _Hungarian_, a language he recognized only because Chuin's mother had a tendency to curse in her native tongue.

The squeak of Genrou's shoes echoed loudly in the hall as he made his way up a flight of stairs. Where _was_ everybody? This was supposed to be a school, not a mausoleum!

He squeaked his way down another hall; counted the doors as he passed. One, two, three, four—classroom, classroom, lecture hall, copy room—ten, eleven—nineteen, twenty, twenty one, stairwell; up another flight, down another hall. Darkened class after darkened class, all the way to the end. Then—

Aha!

**328  
****DEPT. OF CULTURAL ANTHROPOLOGY  
**Prof. Diana Chakavartula

Genrou shifted his weight uneasily, debating whether or not to knock. He hadn't seen anything to indicate that there was a single person on campus. All the classrooms were dark, the halls were silent. Even the faint hum of the lights seemed _terribly_ loud, and the screech of his damp shoes was enough to make him positively _cringe_.

Leery of breaking the stillness, he nonetheless rapped softly on the door.

No answer.

He pressed his ear to the door...was that movement he heard? There was no way to be sure. For all he knew, Miss Chaka-whatever had a lizard or snake or something, and _that_ was making those tiny shush-ing noises.

He knocked again, louder this time.

It echoed.

This time, the noise from the room was more pronounced—a soft shuffling of papers and the scrape of chair legs on the floor.

A softly accented alto voice said, "Come in." He did.

The woman who rose to greet him was breathtakingly lovely, with smooth, cocoa skin and piercing hazel eyes. A thick, black braid was coiled tightly at the back of her head, and would have fallen past her hips if allowed to hang free.

"Professor..." Genrou began, hesitating over how to pronounce the foreign name.

"Diana," [3] she said. Her high-cheeked face lit up with a polite smile, and her eyes were alive with mirth. "Hindi names can be difficult to pronounce if you don't speak the language. Just call me Diana."

The hand she extended had a good firm grip, with just a hint of roughness that betokened hard work. Strong as she was, though, she had bones like a bird. He found himself reluctant to squeeze her hand too tightly for fear of crushing it.

"Nice ta meetcha," he said, "I'm Genrou."

"Well then, what can I do for you, Genrou? I wouldn't have thought any student would pass up a day off just to pay a visit to a teacher."

Well, that solved the mystery of the vacant buildings. "Umm..." The redhead shifted uncomfortably, "I've got a kinda—interesting—situation, and wanted to know if you knew anything about ancient languages and translation. And if the answer is "no," if you know anyone who _does_. I mean, I know you've got stuff to do and classes an' all—"

Subconsciously he was aware that he was starting to babble, but there was something about this...this _striking_ woman that radiated an unsettling degree of poise and power. This was _not_ a woman to offend; and coming from someone who grew up in a whole family of strong women, that was saying a lot.

He broke off his sentence abruptly as she held up a hand in restraint.

"I take it you have a specific linguistic selection in mind. Do you have any clue as to the language? Or the time period it comes from?"

Genrou blinked and shook his head. "I recognized a coupla _types_ of languages, but they weren't in any dialect that I could really understand."

"And do you want to know what the language is, or a total translation?"

"Both, if possible."

Diana nodded, brows drawing together in thought. Then she abruptly turned and began leafing though a stack of papers on her desk.

His eyes caught a glimmer of light as she turned; a ruby chip inlayed in gold nestled in the curve of her finely drawn nose. The stud couldn't have been much larger than the head of a pin, but the faceting made it shine like a young star.

"Ah, he _is_ here today," she announced triumphantly, "Good. Let's go!"

Before Genrou could even draw breath to ask who, she'd thrown a shawl around her shoulders and whisked out the door. The flustered redhead hurriedly followed, his footsteps completely masking the soft swish of the woman's feet.

Outside, the rain fell heavier than before, but was still too tenuous to be worth making a dash for shelter. She led him down a series of small, shielded paths, barren trees and evergreen bushes doing little to shelter their bodies from the weather. After a few minutes, Genrou found himself forgetting the rain as the mood of the terrain crept into his mind. Rain-darkened branches interlaced above his head, skeletons standing starkly against the overcast sky. Eerie and menacing, they snared and entrapped, clutching him tight to the undergrowth in a relentless grip. Caging him.

"We're here."

Surprise eased the tight band of pressure around his chest, as he belatedly registered the rapid flutter of his heart. He peered ahead into the gloom. Sure enough, there was a building nestled in among the trees.

But there was a lingering feel of smothering closeness that even entering the stone building, with its shiny new floors and multi-paned windows couldn't shake. There was still a simmering anticipation, like lightning waiting to strike. It set his senses on full alert despite the knowledge that it wasn't necessary.

The Indian woman led him to the rear of the building, moving lightly as a shadow as the wide windowed walls gave way to a darker hallway and the windows vanished altogether. "This building abuts a steep incline," she said, "It's actually built on what used to be a creek bed, and this end of the building extends right into the side of the hill. A number of the science classes meet here because it stays a great deal cooler, even during the summer months, so it's easier to maintain the cool temperature needed to work with certain chemicals."

They ascended an open, circular stairway that seemed to extend far past the highest level of the three story building. They reached the third floor and climbed on past the roof and the layer of sod that covered it. The occasional narrow window offered only fleeting glimpses outside.

It occurred to Genrou that those slim openings brought to mind images of medieval castles with arrow-slits, designed to allow archers to shoot from within the building without exposing themselves to enemy fire. It also made it impossible for any but a child to slip in through the apertures; or perhaps a _very_ small adult, without much bulk to their frame.

Without warning, the stairway ended in a wide-open room with long tables set around the edges, and a domed roof that obviously opened to allow viewers to use the telescope that dominated the center of the room.

::An _astronomy_ tower? I thought we were going to see a linguist!::

"Ari! 'Jun! You guys here?"

Diana's cry went unanswered for a moment, but then was met by a deep, rumbling "In the back room, Dee!"

Diana's eyes brightened and she swept through an unobtrusive doorway, Genrou following close on her heels. But while she rushed forward to embrace the room's occupant, _he_ stopped just inside the doorway and looked up—and up, and up...

::Damn! That guy's gotta be at _least_ six-foot eight! Maybe taller.::

The huge bear of a man who had the delicate Professor wrapped in—well—a bear hug, could have filled the red-lit room all by himself! With two... no, _three_ other people—there was a young man bent over a shallow tub in the corner—inside the room with him it was positively crowded!

The unknown young man pulled a sheet of paper from the tub of liquid and clipped it to a line of wire to dry.

Genrou mentally shrugged. If these guys wanted a dark-room [4] in the astronomy tower, who was he to argue? He still didn't know why Diana had brought him here.

Genrou turned his attention back to the tall guy as he and the Professor finished their greetings.

"So, Dee, what brings you to my humble abode on such a weary, dreary day?" the man-mountain rumbled, pushing shaggy brown hair out of his eyes.

"Well, Genrou here needs a little help, and knowing how you love a challenge, I thought we'd come to you, Ari."

Ari pinned Genrou with a calculating look, then nodded. "We're done with the photos, so why don't we take this somewhere with a little more leg room, hm?"

----------

Ari shut off the tape player and clasped his hands on the table in front of him. He was troubled by what he had heard, and the furrow between Diana's eyebrows, he knew, was echoed between his own.

Genrou found his second time hearing the recording Jiang had given to him every bit as disturbing as the first. He tore his eyes away from the cassette player and concentrated on the hum of the telescope's computers, willing his heart to slow down and his breathing to become less frantic. Little more than half way through the recording he'd found himself beginning to sweat.

There was something terrible in that recorded voice, and it had nothing to do with the confusing babble of words being spoken.

Diana softly cleared her throat. "Ari, from what I heard, there was an awful lot of…I don't know…repetition?" She shook her head. "No, no, that's not the right word." Her delicate eyebrows knit together. "It was…it was…"

"Revalations."

Genrou, Diana and Ari just about jumped out of their skins as the young man, so silent they'd all but forgotten his presence, spoke in his soft tenor voice.

Three sets of eyes fixed themselves firmly on the unassuming college student.

"He was reciting bits and pieces of 'Revelations,' and the part in the Bible about Lucifer's being cast out of heaven. The fall of the greatest of the Angels. All those languages—the ones I understood—they were Bible verses, that's why the seemed so repetitive. They _were_ repetitions."

Genrou's jaw almost dropped through the floor, and he blinked stupidly at the other man. How many languages did this guy speak?

'Jun' shrugged. "I'm good at languages," he said, almost seeming apologetic.

::_Damn_,:: Genrou's mind whispered in awe, ::he a mind-reader too?::

Ari rapped the table with one gnarled knuckle, breaking the redhead's rapt stare. "So. Bible verses. Didja catch any of that last bit? Wasn't any language _I_ recognized."

'Jun shrugged again and looked quizzically at Diana.

She looked both thoughtful and disbelieving.

"Well, Dee?" Ari rumbled, "It was such a random mix I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Sounded too old to be my venue."

The Indian woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Yes, it was _quite_ a mix… But it's a mix I've read before."

A bushy red eyebrow tried to lose itself in Ari's hairline. "Read?"

She nodded. "Read. Because that language died out so very long ago that all we have left of it is written. That's why it was so difficult for me to categorize. I had to stop concentrating of word fragments and start thinking about what writings would _create_ those sounds. It's a mix of the Romance, Germanic and Finno-Ugric language groups, along with the root sounds of the Middle-Eastern and Egyptian tongues."

"I think it was ancient Babylonian."

TBC

[1] Direct quote from me when I was lazing about on my friend's bed one dull, dreary day.

[2] Indian summer is what comes after summer here in Northern California. In early fall we usually have several weeks of clear skies, crisp air and warm weather. It usually feels more summer-ish during Indian summer than it does during the actual summer months.

[3] Meant to be pronounced with a long "e" [_Dee_-anna] not [_Die_-anna]

[4] A 'dark room' is a red-lit room used to develop photographs


End file.
